Digital Cupcakes

My name is Simrat, I like cupcakes.
How’d you find this website??

March 31st, 2026
Goodbye, my sullen bellows, I think while I gasp in the dearest, familiar particles of inadequacy. My whole life, I have been a benign person. A group of friends laughing at a clever joke I made with the facade of chance; someone asking–like, really wondering– about how I am; attention on my words. All moments I kiss to bed, before choking out the liquid memories ripping my throat apart.I want the holy warmth of touch. I want, I want, I want. What else are my fingers made for if not grasping onto ghosts? I miss the comfort of leaning back on a breathing body. I miss it so bad. I insulate the hurt of people pulling away from me into fiery hot anger that stabs at my heart. Golden sunlight licking my skin is the only replica of physical connection I have, and the sun has been running the opposite direction of me, too.Is it me? Do I grasp so hard that my nails dig into flesh until beads of blood trickle down? Until ten crescent moons decorate bones like handprints on soft concrete? Oh, what to do? Distance makes the heart grow fond, yet I’ve been distant from the world since I was born, and I don’t suppose many hearts have been bitten by fondness for me. It may be for the better, I can’t deny the disappointment that follows me around like a bloodhound. I wouldn’t want it rubbing off on other people.

March 26th, 2026
I’m a ghastly scene, aren’t I? The pale sickness of want has stretched across the plain of my body, sores of need garnishing my bitten-through lips. You have slid past the frail fence bones of my ribcage and nested yourself in the soft and dear middle of my heart.
The best you can offer is friendship. The word cuts through my tongue, leaving a bitter and metallic taste of blood. Friends. What am I but an admirer? My traitorous eyes rolling over your skin. My lurid core jousting with itself at your name. It is all admiration.
You’ve set me ablaze. All those times I have kissed your head, it was unbeknownst to me that my lips were grazing fire. I did not realize hair could feel so much like silk in between my fingers, nor did I realize mouths could be so tender. Mine remains barren land, though I’m sure yours has been adorned.
I drink the misty lies that leak from your teeth like juice from fallen fruit– ignoring the ants that glide down my throat as I suck my fill. Your covert sanctimony is sweet, syrupy. I will not call you out on the lies I can see right through because the truth ebbs away at my insides. I may be a statue of your past, but admission hurts. Wherefore, I believe you.
—Love, Simrat

March 21st, 2026
People are awful, aren’t they? With their candy-sweet birthday cards and wedding vows. Human children (infants) trying to carry groceries with their parents to feel helpful, while their parents laugh and gently shift the item from the infants small fingers to their own. Mid-growth humans (teenagers) crying over another teenager breaking their heart. Adult humans (adults, funnily enough) worrying about rent for a shelter they don't even like.They all make art. Infants use stiff hands to crayon all over furniture. Teenagers crack a DAW, or paint, or write in their diaries because they know adolescence is fleeting and the dollar-store ink that leaks into their hands is somehow sacred. Few adults hold those holy creations close to them as they grow.Pain seeps into the art humans make, who likes pain? Let’s get rid of it! It takes forever to learn how to do stuff, it takes even longer to do it well.If you tell a robot to suck you off, it probably will. It doesn’t feel shit. Everything is quick now. Ordering food, speed delivery, and now art. What are we all rushing towards? We have time. You have time. You don’t need a robot to write your breakup letter. You can do it, can’t you? Every arrangement of 01001010100111010 that an A.I. labels writing is a ball of chewed up human literature that the robot spat out. Gooey, mushy, odious.Two years ago, I didn’t know what A.I. was, now it’s in every conversation. “I used [unnamed A.I. website] to write my script.” I once overheard in a dark drama room while eating my plastic-like school lunch. Fuck you. Human creation is incandescent, A.I. is dogshit

March 10th, 2026,
Recently, trying to write an English assignment has consistently spilled into typing up journal entries. This is a dangerous place to write. I'm in a classroom with rowdy teenagers doing rowdy things– I can hear them yelling through the wide corners of their mouths, despite music blasting through my earphones. I cannot speak right now, fucking illness. Everyone pays attention to the kid who has lost her voice and just must make it a big deal. It’s not my fault I lost my voice the one day the class decided to play a game that requires talking!I wonder if people would still show up if the world was gray. If there were strong winds that never calmed, if perpetual rain burdened the sky and soil. Would anyone show up to anything important? Apocalyptic thoughts are ones I try to avoid, but once the thoughts are in my head it’s hard to slice them off.

March 9th, 2026
“Kiss me after a quiet song, here together” is what the arranged magnets at the library say. Maybe I moved a few words to make them coherent, fine. I feel a tickle in my throat, the kind that makes you taste nothing but your own fossilized spit. I can feel the ridges of plaque on my own teeth, and my breathing is confined to half a nostril. Regarding my last post, my imposter syndrome hasn’t gotten better and I still do not feel human, but I have experienced quite human things in the past week.Artifact #1: Crying in the air, feet swinging pathetically back and forth, as rain pours down on me.Artifact #2: Crying alongside clouds that shift away as the sun pushes through them, sunlight meandering through the rain. No rainbow, though.Artifact #3: Learning the day that someone stopped loving me– March 6th, 2025.Artifact #3.5: Desperately trying to explain to my friends the significance of that date, but it seems like everyone except me has accepted the fact that the past will stay and never come back.A good chunk of shit that makes me want to puke. I fear a poetic ending. That I’ll live by something my whole life and end by the opposite. I also fear misconceptions about myself, a “let them eat cake” of my own. This is a pretty shallow post, maybe whatever virus crept into my body is turning my brain to mush. Viruses aren’t living things so I can confidently say: fuck you, get out of my immune system.
In other news, I am aiming for no more than a passing grade in all of my classes. The validation I get from a goooood 100% isn’t worth the sleep I lose over it. Actually, I lose sleep either way.

March 4th, 2026,
On my walk home, the glazing wet of the pavement I swore my pants weren’t touching seeped into the bottom of my jeans. I saw a patch of grass far more vibrant than the prickles around it– yellower hues too.Off my phone, the world feels so small, when my eyes melt into it, the world is too large. Nonetheless, life feels insignificant, nothing substantial. It’s as if I have a gaping hole through my ribs, the consequence of consistent lighter sparks flying into my skin throughout my life. Everything is so dull. The typical blend of stress and boredom within my adolescence leaves me tired and weary, unable to sleep. What am I supposed to do?When I see certain people’s faces it’s as if my entire body hisses, like it has suffered a lightning strike, but the crowding of their presence in my dreams isn’t enough to turn them into nightmares. The framework of my brain has been subsidiary to what it used to be. I feel things less. Far, far less. That scares me. I don’t feel happy.I can, however, confidently say that I am sad. Sadness doesn’t mean anything to me, sadness is so numb. Being emotionally static for all this time has been such a fucking illness. I just want to feel everything again, as saturated as I used to. My thin streams of tears have been forced out of me, by the state of the universe (which, really, doesn’t help because of how large it is), or my small life.
So, I created this website to act as a blog for myself. Pushing the thoughts in my brain out, forcing them to live in a container in the world wide web. Maybe this’ll help, who knows? I’ve always wanted to own an archive.

I technically can’t make a Q&A page to this website :( I’ll figure it out